"We have not much to say to you fellows. We always do to Boston men
as we have done to you, give a little of whatever we have, treat
everybody well and never quarrel. This is all we have to say."
Our Kake neighbors set out for Fort Wrangell next morning, and we
pushed gladly on toward Chilcat. We passed an island that had lost
all its trees in a storm, but a hopeful crop of young ones was
springing up to take their places. I found no trace of fire in these
woods. The ground was covered with leaves, branches, and fallen
trunks perhaps a dozen generations deep, slowly decaying, forming a
grand mossy mass of ruins, kept fresh and beautiful. All that is
repulsive about death was here hidden beneath abounding life. Some
rocks along the shore were completely covered with crimson-leafed
huckleberry bushes; one species still in fruit might well be called
the winter huckleberry. In a short walk I found vetches eight feet
high leaning on raspberry bushes, and tall ferns and Smilacina
unifolia with leaves six inches wide growing on yellow-green moss,
producing a beautiful effect.
Our Indians seemed to be enjoying a quick and merry reaction from the
doleful domestic dumps in which the voyage was begun. Old and young
behaved this afternoon like a lot of truant boys on a lark. When we
came to a pond fenced off from the main channel by a moraine dam,
John went ashore to seek a shot at ducks.
